


The Secret That Lies In Mona Lisa's Smile

by Ryntaia



Category: Persona 5, persona - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff, pomp and artistry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 11:08:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10695771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryntaia/pseuds/Ryntaia
Summary: Yusuke Kitagawa is a desperate artist, in a desperate situation of no inspiration. And in times of desperation he's willing to take a friend's advice even if it means portraying a woman he often disagrees with.





	The Secret That Lies In Mona Lisa's Smile

The Secret That Lies in Mona Lisa’s Smile

 

 

            The only time that Kitagawa Yusuke had gotten Takamaki Ann to sit down and actually model for him had been an unmitigated disaster.

            Ann had laid down the rules firmly from the get-go. She would not strip nude and she would not pose in a way that made her uncomfortable. Admittedly both rules were a severe hindrance—portraying the raw vulnerability of human beings was oft found in the soft surface of their skin—but Yusuke had long ago admitted to himself that there was never to be a chance of Ann doing such a thing anyhow. The woman was nothing if not firm and stalwart in her own personal determinations of herself, only escalated by her time with the Phantom Thieves. It almost added an extra layer of stern desirability to her already attractive form. It begged to be put on canvas.

            Or, well, so he had thought.

            Every brushstroke he laid to the cowhide felt wrong, every drop of paint misplaced. Each angle explored gave him nothing that wrenched into his soul like the mysterious unknown Sayuri, much less the vulnerable and devoted Sayuri. Takamaki may well have been a woman made for a camera—and perhaps, he mused while looking at the disappointing painting before him, that was what was meant to portray her.

Her beauty was a beauty that was always on the surface—from the puffs of blonde locks that stood out in a crowd, to her confident stride and posture. She was nothing short of _herself_ , and there was nothing a painting could do to bring anything further out of her. Because as she was now the woman wore herself on her sleeve and did not apologize for it. The photographs she had posed for in the magazine displayed her perfectly—hot blooded, enthusiastic, and sweet.

            He had nothing more to capture. Perhaps that was why the painting he had produced looked so…dull. It wasn’t exactly showing any secrets of the subject, just a person as they were.

            “I think you’re being too hard on yourself, Yusuke.” Ann had tried to soothe him uncomfortably. “I like it. You made me look super pretty, y’know? It’s really flattering.”

            It was a kind formality. Ann wasn’t an art person, so he supposed she wasn’t lying and it DID look very nice to her. But he knew without falter that the picture he had created lacked something. He had spent countless nights in the dorm afterwards staring pointedly at the painting, tapping his clean brush against the bottom of the wooden easel impatiently. Like doing so would somehow fix the mistake.

            All he could do, though, was admit that he needed to try a different model.

            Someone less blunt, someone who didn’t wear themselves so blatantly on their sleeves. Someone who could exude personality while still remaining their own secret that others would question. The first who came to mind was immediately Niijima Makoto—a stern woman with no time for jokes or jokesters. But even before he asked he knew that she wouldn’t be interested in posing for him. Whatever vulnerabilities she may possess, the student council president was not interested in putting them on display. Nor was her even sterner prosecutor sister.

            Yusuke groaned, resisting the urge to slam a giant black patch of ink across his painting of Ann. It didn’t deserve that. It wasn’t necessarily poorly done, after all…just not what he had been hoping. Threading his fingers through his hair with a slight tug, the artist resisted the after urge to just slam his head against the nearest wall. He was right on the verge of doing it, too, but was distracted by the sudden sound of vibrating—his phone rumbling against the wood of the dorm provided desk. Hesitantly he reached over to check it.

            He was greeted with bright red letters and a picture of a very bored looking black haired boy with glasses. The phone continued to vibrate in his fingers for a moment and with a groan, Yusuke flipped his thumb across the screen to pick it up.

            “ _Yusuke?_ ”

            “Good evening, Akira. What can I attribute this pleasure to?” Yusuke managed, trying to pull himself out of the void he had been sinking into. “You don’t usually call any of us this late.”

            “ _Ann called me._ ”

            Their leader didn’t say anything more than that; it told Yusuke everything he needed to know. Ann had been concerned about his reaction to finishing her portrait and had called Akira about it. Something in the back of his head told the teen that he should’ve expected this. Ann was a caring girl, and Akira was something of a guidance counselor for all of them in their times of need. Of course she would turn to the deceptively unkempt looking boy in her time of concern. It almost brought a warm feeling to his chest to cut through the dismal slump he was suffering.

            “I see. So she told you about…”

            “ _The portrait, yes. It didn’t go well, I heard._ ”

            “…Well, something like that, I suppose. It got done.” Yusuke hazarded another glance to the lifeless portrait at his side. “But it doesn’t feel done. It doesn’t feel like it could ever be ‘done’.”

            “ _How so?_ ”

            “It lacks something, I suppose.” Yusuke felt like he was rambling, but it was a trait Akira tended to bring out in all people. He was quite capable of making people say what they thought. “Ann is very beautiful. I see that in what I’m looking at, in what I painting. But I don’t truly see anything else. And honestly it’s quite distressing. I miscalculated quite badly how compatible she would be with my paintbrush.”

            “ _…Maybe you should try a different model._ ”

            A mind reader, this one. Yusuke could scarcely believe how Kurusu Akira did it, sometimes. The boy was like a force of nature sometimes—and it wasn’t worth the strain to question a force of nature. He let out a heaving sigh. “Yes, I had considered that, but I’ve yet to find a satisfying model. Makoto or her sister could be interesting but I am well aware that it wouldn’t really be a job either of them would be interested in. Haru is…sweet…but I feel with her I might run into the same roadblock with Ann. At this point I’m wondering if I should default into insanity and paint Morgana or something insane like that.”

            The other side of the line was silent for a moment; Yusuke waited patiently. It wasn’t unlike Akira to take his time and pause before answering. It had been a bit aggravating at first, but it was a quirk that all of the Phantom Thieves had eventually gotten used to. They knew that typically he had something important to mull over if he was going to take pause and more often than not Akira’s musings had helped all of them. His were thoughts worth waiting for.

            “ _What about Futaba?_ ”

            Though this may have been the one time they weren’t.

            “FUTABA? Why in the world would you suggest FUTABA?” Yusuke found himself barking in retaliation. All that could come to mind was ‘Inari, Inari, Inari’. The sheer idea of even approaching the redhead girl for such an effort seemed simply ludicrous—it wasn’t like she would agree even if he WAS interested in having the shut-in model for a painting.

            “ _...I can ask her to do it._ ”

            “I didn’t ASK you to ask her.” Yusuke said tersely.

            “ _You should think about it, though._ ”

            “Why on Earth would I want to think about it? That girl couldn’t appreciate the value of art if it hit her in the face.”

            “ _She’s not much of an art lover...I mean, not in the way you are, I guess. But neither is Ann and you asked her. So I don’t really get your point._ ” Akira finally interrupted; Yusuke could swear he heard annoyance cutting into the other teen’s tone. “ _There is a commonality, you know._ ”

            “A commonality?” Yusuke scoffed. “I hope you don’t mean between me and her.”

            “ _Yeah, I do._ ”

            “And what would that be?”

            “ _Passion._ ”

            The only sound Yusuke could hear through the deafening silence that followed was the dripping of his paintbrush into the watercolor mix it sat aside. He stared forward blankly—Passion. Dedication. The maximum closeness a single person could have to his or her own personal goals. The relationship that a person had with what they loved to do, be in painting or modeling or prosecuting or…

            He drew in a sharp breath.

            “…Saturday.”

            “ _Excuse me?_ ”

            “I’ll give it one shot. This Saturday. If it doesn’t work out then, then it doesn’t work out for good.” Yusuke said testily. He couldn’t even believe he was allowing himself to be roped into this. “I can assure you it likely will NOT, but I suppose everything is worth a shot while one is in a slump like this.”

            “ _That’s the spirit._ ”

            And with that, Kusuru Akira hung up, apparently satisfied with his work. Kitagawa Yusuke simply slumped downwards between his own legs with a long, tired groan. This was not going to be easy…this was going to be a very, VERY long Saturday…

            But it was worth a shot. Everything was.

          

* * *

 

 

            This was not worth it.

            He had been greeted at the door by Sojiro Sakura, who had eyed him over at least five times like he was a convicted criminal here to kidnap his adopted daughter. After a long wait of being evaluated by the stern gaze of the coffee shop owner, the man had let out an exhausted sigh while stepping to the side. Yusuke bowed his head formally to the other—Sojiro just snorted. The artist hadn’t exactly taken the man for someone who took kindly to such formalities. Still, there was nothing that could be done about it, even if it did leave Yusuke with a rather uncomfortable feeling. Like the man was going to be watching him the whole time or something.

            And if Sojiro wasn’t putting in his damnest effort to make Yusuke uncomfortable, than Futaba certainly WAS. The look she gave him from her computer desk was nothing short of sheer irritation—narrowed eyes and pouting lips over hunched shoulders as she drew up into her typical fetal position. It was fairly obvious that the redhead had no interest in doing this, and had only agreed because Akira had asked her. Yusuke wasn’t surprised. The messy boy had been like a brother to her.

            He moved to raise the lighting in the room; Futaba’s hand just snapped outwards and lowered it again. Her thin hands held a small roller device—likely a dimmer for the room. Yusuke groaned inwardly.

            “I have to be able to see to paint.”

            “No one told you to, Inari.”

            Yusuke grit his teeth to keep his comments in the back of his throat. With a sigh he set his easel down to set up, supplies stacking up on a fold out table he had brought along. Not that it would’ve matter—in this mess, he wouldn’t have been surprised if Futaba’s room ate his supplies. His expensive, expensive, EXPENSIVE supplies. Shaking the horrifying thought off with a shudder, Yusuke positioned his fingers in front of his eye to evaluate the redhead in front of him.

            She wasn’t looking at him.

            “Futaba. If you would please pay attention.”

            “No. I’ve got twelve hundred more lines of code to work out.” She replied, fingers flying across the keyboard. Her hands moved with surprisingly stylish grace despite her apparent irritation. He studied them for a moment—thin and clearly out of use in anything but typing and gaming. But when in use, it seemed, they spread their skinny and sparse wings to soar. It was almost like a shockingly intricate dance across the keyboard, in a way, and Yusuke found himself oddly enraptured by it.

Thin lines of pencil crossed absentmindedly in his practice sketchbook, forming slowly into the intricate postures that the hacker’s hands would make as she went at it. Before he knew it, the entire page was filled with the intricate hand postures that had typed out line after line of code. Yusuke tapped his chin with the eraser of the pencil—there was a flowing elegance to the thin fingers that went in perfect harmony with the dark swipes of pencil and heavy shading.

Her hands rose aside her cheeks as she leaned further in to the screen, Yusuke seeming to be forgotten—though he wondered if the girl had really been paying him much mind to begin with. Utterly engrossed, she was. Just like his own hands as he wildly sketched out this new posture presented by her dancing fingers, finally catching her face this time. The light of the screen shone ominously in her face with the screen full of code reflecting back in her glasses. The rest of her body seemed to disappear into the low-lit room.

All that was there was Futaba Sakura’s mind, her fingers, and her passion.

The thought of green flashed through Yusuke’s mind—a black and green suit, lines of green ruining down the reflections of shining red hair within a floating control center. With a clatter he pushed away from the desk and back to his easel, pulling out his paints and splattering greens and blacks onto the clean white palette. It arosed Futaba’s curiosity for a moment; he raised his arm swiftly in protest and she jumped away a bit in confusion.

            “Don’t pay me any mind. Continue what you are doing.”

            “What? But you’re acting like a weirdo…”

            “Call it as you will. Resume your business.” He commanded—a forceful tone that rose above his already deep, rich voice. Futaba flushed slightly and hesitantly turned back to her computer. Despite her misgivings she quickly lost herself back in her coding, although now every once in a while her violet eyes would dart back to the paint splattering violently yet precisely across the delicate cowhide canvas. Kitagawa Yusuke moved in a way that suggested absolute command of self, in a way that could only be described as imposing and impressive. Somehow, despite her dedication to the code in front of her, Futaba couldn’t entirely focus on it with Yusuke there.

            Here in here safe, tight little room. Painting her.

            She growled a bit and thanked the darkness for concealing her blush, opting instead to press roughly down on the enter key. The computer chimed happily back at her—the code had been successful. The new program looked like it had survived beta. All she had to do now was hone it further and she knew it could stand to be one of the new premier tools in hacking. And to think all it took was sorting through the code of the more popular anti-virus programs. The sheer thought summoned a wicked smirk to the young hacker’s face.

            “That’s perfect.”

            She jolted up again, eyes refusing to leave the screen…but from the corner of her sight she could see Yusuke’s hands in that box shape again, now focused on her face. “What’s perfect, Inari?”

            “That expression. It was you.”

            “I…huh? What the heck does that mean?” Futaba finally tore herself away from the screen to give the artist a curious look. Yusuke chucked slightly as his arm darted across the canvas to make one finishing line—the line of the mouth. When he didn’t answer her, she slowly slipped her feet from underneath her and padded over to the easel where the tall boy was practically beaming.

            It was a furious picture—flurries of black went across the canvas, curled around vivid neon green shapes of hands that curled around the figure at the desk. Futaba’s own fingers, depicted in stark white, gripping the keyboard in sheer determination as her body was surrounded by those neon green hands that tapped at keyboards that stacked across each other to make the desk. Each other mimicked the actions of their founder, confidently typing out line after line of neon green code that floated aside them in the darkness. Does

            And in the middle of it all was Futaba.

            The girl’s form was almost swift, painted across in simple shapes of dark black and neon red. Her hair was one long swipe of orange as it curled around the back of her chair. Near the brow it frayed out into the choppy bangs, each a single quick downwards swipe that fell into the shining glasses and across the confident smirk. Her eyes were obstructed by the glow of the screen in the lens of her glasses, reflecting back lines of neon green code that wasn’t visible on the heavily darkened computer system. It matched the code next to the hands perfectly.

            It was all so quick, so swift, so sudden, but so elegant despite it all. Kitagawa Yusuke deserved the praise he had been given as an artist; even as the subject, every bit of the radical painting _spoke_ to Futaba. She reached out but resisted glazing the drying paint. It was as if her world, the one that no one saw when she was coding, was finally on display for the world to see. Brash, confident, and intimate.

            “Does it please you?”

            Futaba jerked away, shocked to find herself face to face with Yusuke. He shifted back uncomfortably; he had come to rest his head aside her head as she stared as the sudden burst of artistry but was suddenly and keenly reminded of the girl’s discomfort with people. With as much banter he swapped with the young hacker, it was easy to forget that only a few months ago she had been unable to function outside of her bedroom—much less this close to another person.

            But after her initial jerk, she didn’t move. She just stayed right in front of him as he hunched in front of her, staring right back into his dark eyes as if looking for the answer to an unspoken question. Up this close, Yusuke could study Futaba’s face more clearly—the petite nose, the small mouth with its pink plump lips, and oddly subdued violet shade of eyes oft hidden under the sheen of her glasses. She wasn’t unattractive. Far from it. She had a sort of attractiveness that differed strongly from Ann’s, a sort of ‘cuteness’ that was almost more rare than Ann’s sheer beauty.

            Yusuke looked away and coughed into his hand; he wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Because, after all, well…

            “Inari?”

            …Well, that.

            Before he could reply, the redhead reached out those slim fingers with their sharp nails (coated with a black sheen and a surprisingly artistic pattern) and flicked him right between the eyes. Yusuke yelped, an undignified sound he rarely humored, as he jumped back a bit. That same cocky smile had returned to Futaba’s face…but a laugh was in her throat, her eyebrows dipped sympathetically as she tried for once to not laugh at the artist and his many oddities.

            Before he could start up another round of banter with her, she spoke.

            “Thanks, Inari. You…I like it. Thanks.”

            Futaba’s nose dipped down to the ground, unwilling to look at the other as her hair drowned her face out. Quickly she hunched down to the floor with her knees against her chest. Manicured nails came clumsily together as the hacker pressed both pointer fingers together nervously, staring at her feet. There wasn’t much she could say and the redhead didn’t like to admit it but she wasn’t good with words. Expressing exactly how she felt when she looked at the effort of the painting was…difficult…

            It was silenced as a hand came down on her head. With a jolt, she looked up in shock to meet the warm smile on Yusuke’s face. It wasn’t an expression she was used to seeing…but it was an expression she liked. The coldness that the towering teen always seemed to have was gone, melted away in the rich smile that he handed to Futaba and Futaba alone. It spread a rush of blood across her cheeks.

            “I should be thanking you. Akira was right to recommend you.” He coughed awkwardly again, smile fading as quick as it came. Futaba was surprised to find she missed it. “I’m…sure this sounds odd, but I…would you, I mean…mind modeling for me again, sometime? I feel the results had been very successful.”

            Futaba looked over to the painting sitting on the easel, neon and vibrant yet dark and foreboding. With a snorting laugh she buried her head in her knees to laugh wildly for a few minutes, Yusuke simply propped on one knee in front of her with a questioning look in his eyes. Yet despite himself a small smile was spreading his face as he joined in on the hacker’s infectious laughter.

            “You’re so stupid sometimes, Inari.” Yusuke scoffed at her statement but she ignored it, resting her cheek on her knee. “I said thank you. That means I like it, you dumb dummy. I totally think we could do this again.”

            “Really?” Futaba almost fell into more laughter at the hopefulness in Yusuke’s voice.

            “Really really.”

            And as she stared at the painting, she could only focus in on the finish touch—that smile she had while being painting by this eccentric man.

           


End file.
